This html article is produced from an uncorrected text file through optical character recognition. Prior to 1940 articles all text has been corrected, but from 1940 to the present most still remain uncorrected. Artifacts of the scans are misspellings, out-of-context footnotes and sidebars, and other inconsistencies. Adjacent to each text file is a PDF of the article, which accurately and fully conveys the content as it appeared in the issue. The uncorrected text files have been included to enhance the searchability of our content, on our site and in search engines, for our membership, the research community and media organizations. We are working now to provide clean text files for the entire collection.
No one in modern naval history fostered more of a love-hate relationship with his subordinates than did Admiral Hyman Rickover. To many, the moniker Kindly Old Gentleman (KOG) was a joke. To,the author, whose own quip here made the KOG crack a rare smile, it meant something more.
ALL PHOTOS GENERAL DYNAMICS. ELECTRC BOAT DIVISION
ble1
o-fat ale o
ily i»
detd s wrt
juit^
s at'
, 1* t e',f
:ss■' ortl1 ev’t1
; di* dig11 . tat
lo^
ilOf ie ^
V
;o<f
tlH'1"
“But everybody who knew him hated him)” asserted a respected veteran submariner in a television interview. He spoke, of course, about the methods and mannerisms of a man accorded genius status by some, hellion by others. He was a naval officer for more than 60 years, a frail-appearing, gnome of a man who led the U.S. Navy into the nuclear age—he was Rickover. The term “hate” in that interview was somewhat overplayed and might not have been the impression the speaker wished to convey. Others commenting during the television program “Sharks of Steel” also emphasized the down side of the crusty admiral, enough that a number of viewers asked the question, “Was he really that bad?” Certainly, most who worked with him or saw his results respected him greatly. He was an absolutely dedicated professional and engineer. No one who ever worked for or with him totally escaped his fierce tirades, or worse. But aside from his extreme focus and harshness, there was also a human side to the Kindly Old Gentleman.
Once, many years ago, I had a paper returned to me covered with his colorful writing, telling me his feelings about my expressed idea or solution to some problem— ”Nyet!” “Nein!” “No!” “Never!” “Hell No!” I somehow got the feeling, a strong hint, that he was coming down on the side of “against.” Were I a person quicker to voice my disagreement, I might have chosen at this specific point in the television program to call out his clear- cut string of negatives, perhaps for additional emphasis adding one from the vernacular of today’s juveniles— “Not!” For 31 years I had known him. If he had been a Woman, his temperament would not have led me to want to marry him. But I did not hate him. I liked him.
I recall the fuming countenance and spiteful words of a former Secretary of the Navy for whom the Admiral refused to back down in settling claims for millions of dollars in what Rickover considered to be wrongful acts against the Navy. More than one Navy admiral failed to persuade Rickover to permit his son (or an acquaintance in good favor) to enter his nuclear program, and they were not accustomed to having their wishes, as fellow flag officers, unfulfilled. A number of engineering duty officers, inventors, ship designers, and executives of shipbuilding
and defense industries—those whose bright and fresh ideas or company profits were blighted by what they perceived as his excessive design conservatism or zeal for quality control—could develop such hatred.
Of my own circle of acquaintances, several failed selection at least initially because they had run afoul of his level of standards. Or in the conduct of their duty, they had to take stands that were counter to nuclear program dogma or desired policy. Some were, in a showdown, completely unsupported by their superiors, who were quite unwilling to fight a battle they viewed as unwinnable, i.e., a confrontation with Rickover. But Rickover did not sit on the selection boards. One might infer that people who sat on the selection boards sought the easy way out, by avoiding confrontation made possible by selecting officers known to be in less-than-top favor among the “nuclear Mafia.” For some, might it be that the fact one was not high on that list provided a ready “out” for a candidate not particularly of his own or his associates’ choosing? And surely, some young officers who left the Navy after failing selection for the nuclear program must harbor harsh feelings indeed for the man they considered their nemesis. Possibly an equal number took alternate paths in our many-pronged Navy and gained top ranks without the luster of the atomic symbol on their records.
Of the latter category, a close friend and often mentor of mine through the years had been a front-runner through his first two commands, but he was turned down for the program. Rickover acknowledged his capability and intelligence, but added that he “had just been fighting the problem too long.” In carrying out his job in the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, his task was to gain entry into ports for nuclear-powered submarines, when in some situations such was not considered essential by the nuclear overseers. I should add that a candidate for hate might also be a readily available copying machine and his office’s practice of typing on the office file copy of outgoing correspondence the name of the originator, who often was carrying out the wishes of his senior bosses.
At any rate, I would consider my friend a candidate for the hate category. But though he was greatly frustrated, he turned his talents to a broader view and moved up in steps to three stars. Some years after his rejection, he was
if
Proceedings/ January 1994
51
in command of a nuclear-powered submarine squadron. One night, after a string of mishaps in one of his ships, he chose to confer with me, a next-door neighbor and Polaris skipper, bringing for this occasion of serious discussion a half-gallon of Jack Daniel’s whiskey. Long into the night we talked, and the level of amber fluid diminished. I seriously doubt that either participant has consumed the same aggregate amount in any five evenings in the 27 years since. Having solved the problems of his errant ship, we got onto Topic A—the KOG—and what in the world could have been his rationale for not having anointed my friend. We discussed in agonizing detail the standards Rickover had set and the marvels represented by our ships. Far from expressing hatred, my friend extolled the results of “the program” and his own disappointment at not having had a nuclear command. But we finished the hours with his declaration, time and again, “I love that old man!” What he was expressing was a love for his Navy, for wonderful ships, for the rigid standards that made the nuclear-propulsion program the success it has always been, and results that could evoke only admiration. Severe disappointment, yes. Hate? Probably not.
When I was commanding officer of the nuclear-power training unit in Idaho back in 1964, the personnel coffers of nuclear-trained sailors had swelled to meet demands of the Polaris program and the growth of the surface nuclear Navy. We had just experienced a serious incident in the large A-l-W aircraft carrier prototype plant that might have impacted seriously on young trainees, if an alert engineering officer had not sensed the situation and shut down the plant. It was purely personal carelessness, really not forgivable, and my rapid investigation enabled hasty resolution and punishment. The Admiral happened to be visiting as I started my string of Captain’s Masts. Incidentally, after an initial outburst of anger, he returned to a philosophical stage far more rapidly than did the West- inghouse managers—or I. Having just awarded a “bust,” a reduction in rate to the petty officer who had been the Engineering Officer of the Watch, I joined Rickover for lunch. In view of the petty officer’s previous record and great capabilities, and noting that he was far remote from the actual scene, I suspended the sentence for six months. Barring some deviation in his performance, he would retain his rank and be home free after that period.
At lunch, Rickover was naturally intensely interested in just how I handled this situation. He asked what I had done, and I told him the details. He nodded thoughtfully. Such fine points of the code of justice were not within his ken, and he was obviously fascinated by the mechanism.
OVl
asf
ant
a I oth ust Pei siti
•ng
su<
Prc
hoi
by
fac
He then asked what I would do with the others accoub able at mast scheduled for later that day. I told him th2 I expected to reduce their rate in a similar fashion, b« since theirs had been errors of commission—actually cal rying out a procedure improperly—and not ones of omis sion—such as was the case of the supervisor—they woul be missing a chevron from their rating badges that evening Rickover chewed his food thoughtfully, then in a soft voic1 commenced a discussion that left the civilian manager present in wonder.
“You know, Kaufman, maybe you’re being too han in this case. Scott (his local Atomic Energy Commissio' representative) tells me that the guys responsible are son* of our best people. You know, we really can’t afford t hurt really good people. They’re too hard to come by. On training paid off; your team prevented a serious prof lem, and people will always make mistakes. Maybe yd can learn something from me. Could you give the otltf guys this same sort of suspension You know, break them and the' suspend it?”
I replied that certainly I could but I was not so inclined becaus* of the gravity of the situation. H* added softly, “Could you do tto> for me?” Of course, I could. A that point of my assent, he dis played the slight twisted smile s* familiar when he had wheedled' concession and added, “And In them know that I interceded fo them, okay? Then let me kno< what reaction you get.”
CO|
boj
lei
at«
she
ea(
Pei
lat,
the
Ih
or
c0|
ha(
iiy
can learn something from me?”
atn
bi(
by
ce<
tba
arii
fr0
-*>ei
Pie
ret
S
Sh;
to
52
Proceedings / January I**
Mast that afternoon was a typ> cally sad and somber affair, at tended by the plant Engineer Offi cer, division officers, and chi£ petty officer superiors of the ac cused sailors. In the customaf manner, all spoke in behalf of the* charges, but all present realized tha the falling of the ax was inevitable I awarded the anticipated bush paused for a few moments to let tb gravity of the charges sink in, the1 added my “however.” As I state* the Admiral’s citing their genet3 superb performance, and his rf quest to intercede, a few uf ashamed tears came to the eyes a supervisors, and I confess to a bit of a catch in my o"! voice. Unbelieving smiles appeared on every face in tb room, and soon on the faces of every sailor, officer, an* Westinghouse manager on the site, as the news spread lib wildfire. If ever morale could be felt, this was a class'* example. One could almost cut off slices of blooming surging morale and serve it. None of the 1,200 Navy troof at that site in the Idaho desert would sign up for a “ha11 Rickover” club. Next day, when I phoned him the resub and spoke of the obvious high morale surge, he chick1 simply, “Now, you see. Will you agree that maybe y°
No one outside the training establishment under Rick- over could appreciate the man’s involvement in every aspect of maintenance of standards, selection of people, and every detail relating to attaining excellence. Dropping a person from the program for academic failure or any other infraction required his approval, and it was quite usual for him to suggest giving a man another chance, to permit more time for additional instruction. In an earlier situation, in which some 20 sailors were involved in cheating, he counseled on exercising moderation in removing such young and inexperienced sailors from the program, since they were in their first away-from- home situation. On another occasion, highlighted by current debates on homosexuals, yet another facet of the man came to light.
ourt i tha
i, b« Y car amis voul :nin£ void ager
han ssioi som >rd t On prob ; yd othe sion thei
ould
caus* i. H> > tha 1 A : dis
;le s< led' d \i d fo cno*
typi r, at Offi
chin e a£ map ’the' dtM tabln iusb et th<
, the< ;tatd neff s tt uf es o o'd n tb‘ •, ad i lik‘ lass* ninS roof “ha11 :sul*'
tide1
; y0>;
One day’s mail brought a shocker—a copy of a report by the Naval Investigative Service addressed “for the commanding officer’s eyes only,” with the usual bureaucratic remonstration that the contents were not to be revealed to the subject and were provided for whatever action deemed necessary. This report detailed a full ac
counting of homosexual activity by one petty officer on board a ship in the far Pacific. Among the dozens of partners he numbered in his confessions was a petty officer at our site, a superb performer and instructor. The details showed a one-time situation when the two 17-year-olds, each on leave from boot camp, became involved in an experience when sharing a bed at one’s home. As I read and later listened to the explanation by the instructor, I had the feeling that his involvement was not dissimilar to some I had noted years earlier in farm boys’ experimentation or of some in Boy Scout camps. The instructor, by his accounting, had never before or since been so involved. He had married and had a happy, exemplary, and normal family life with two children.
Existing Navy policy was explicit and left no room for ambivalence. The man had to be transferred to naval district headquarters, post haste, where he would be judged by a field board and then separated. In the few hours preceding his transfer, his Engineer Officer and the civilian managers confronted me, each citing the man’s qualities and wishing to retain him. In a totally atypical pattern from that normally seen in grizzled chief petty officers, several of his supervisors requested audience with me to plead that some alternate solution be gained. I had already queried appropriate personnel echelons in Washington, only to find that the policy was not elastic—no shade of gray. That evening our instructor was on his way to Seattle, Washington.
As I made a telephone report to the Admiral on this latest happening, it was obvious that he was paying more than usual attention to the details, and questions and answers flowed regarding the report, the man’s revelations, and the protests of his supervisors. "The chiefs did that?” he said. It was apparent that Rickover was impressed by this fact. I advised him that I was in this case the commanding officer, that this was not a “program” thing, and that my action was clear cut. At this point he commented about the sadness of the situation and added that he doubted the wisdom of arbitrary policy with such finality. Then, he added, “You know, I really am in charge of this program. I’m accountable, and I wish that you had come to me before taking the final action. 1 could have talked to BuPers [the Chief of Naval Personnel] and we might have been able to do something. I’m not sure that the policy is right.”
53
ry iff I’rocetdings / January 1994
Lest one think that Rickover’s compassion was reserved for the enlisted sailor, another case indicates the contrary. The Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) ordered a
nuclear-powered submarine skipper summarily relieved. This officer had enjoyed a successful career, progressing through a diesel submarine command, and was about to enjoy the fruits of finishing construction of the latest nuclear-powered sub, when disaster struck during sea trials—a collision at sea. No ardent fan of submarines, the CNO already had experience with a collision between a submarine and an aircraft carrier and, thus conditioned, ordered that the skipper be relieved immediately.
The officer’s account of the situation and Rickover’s interaction is interesting, indeed. The Admiral acknowledged to the erstwhile captain that he had no role in an operational situation, lying as it did beyond the realm of engineering or nuclear. He had felt it wrong, however, to call out a relief prior to the investigation and assignment of responsibility for the collision. He explained that he had approached the submarine force commander, an admiral with whom their differences resembled not so much a split as a chasm, and had suggested that they join forces on this situation and approach the CNO in the interest of allowing the normal and legal procedures to occur. On being rebuffed, Rickover approached the Secretary of the Navy. But after the matter was aired, he was told that the choice he posed was “either Blank [the CNO] or Commander Blank [the skipper].’’ Rickover advised the officer that he had tried but failed and had him call daily on the progress of the investigation. He offered to keep the officer in the nuclear program in another assignment, pointing out that the CNO possibly would move on (and did, precipitously), and that should subsequent investigation absolve him of blame in the collision, he would be ordered to another command after the CNO’s departure. It all happened.
Finally, one should not infer from the foregoing that all was pleasant and serene in dealing with the KOG. In my own case, I found the association challenging, to say the least, but I find myself likening it to a field I have always enjoyed—tactics. There was always something fascinating about trying to guess just what might be the outcome, rather like a strange game of chess— one in which Rickover always seemed to be the winner. There was always something to marvel, and often something to amuse, patching up as one might the tom places in one’s hide. While he was quick to hang up a telephone after his shouted recriminations, he also seemed to have an uncanny feel about one’s thresholds. I recall vividly a situation during the nuclear plant test program of my last command: the USS Will Rogers (SSBN-659). We had experienced many frustrations and delays: a shipbuilder strike, difficulties in manning this 41st and last Polaris boat with adequate quality personnel, and conducting a full-bore test program with a shortage of people. We were making progress, step by laborious step, with oversight from Rickover’s Atomic Energy Commission representatives at the shipyard quick to report any violation, however slight. I had spent the better part of the past two nights observing the conduct of the test program and satisfying myself that we were performing as smoothly as possible with this young group of operators we had trained. A couple of minor setbacks cost sleep, but nothing worse. I had taken leave of our Engineer Officer just an hour or so earlier—as he
expertly continued the long sequences—and had beel asleep no more than minutes when my wife woke me fc| his phone call.
Captain, we’ve just had an incident with the pur water supply—it’s not a big thing and not serious. Oul machinist’s mate did make a mistake and violated a pr<j cedure, but we’ve got everything in hand. The AEC ref has reported it to the Admiral, so I wanted you to knoi right away. Good Night, sir. See you in the morning. [
It was a rather minor thing, but piling on as it did t] my lack of sleep, frustrations with delays, and what seeme to be an unreasonable attention to a minor detail, I worke myself into a mighty state of anger. Cursing strongly, announced to my wife that I had had it up to the gullj with minor annoyances and “if that old son-of-a-bitch call] me on this damned nit-picking thing I’m going to bit him and hang up!”
Within minutes, my wife roused me again—“It’s Ail miral Rickover. Now please be nice, won’t you ?” As | picked up the phone, my anger reached a peak. I drew' deep breath, the better to explode expletives or whai| ever, and announced “Kaufman !” In his usual mann£ of jumping into the subject without salutation or greeting the soft voice commenced—the conciliatory voice, not high, sharp, swearing one I expected.
Sh
an
ha
sh
be
“Look, I know you’ve been working hard and your gu)1 are doing a good job, so I don’t want you to be upset b| small things. Young (his rep) has told me about this del ineralizer thing and it’s only a minor thing. I know you’v| missed a lot of sleep, so I won’t take up your time. G« a good night’s sleep for a change, don’t get in to wot so early, but after you go in, look into this thing and M me know what you’re doing about it. Okay? Good night As I hung up the phone, I was momentarily speechless All of my well-crafted cursing lay on the tip of my tongrf frustratingly unused. As I exhaled my held breath, I tol' my wife “That old man just took away all of my stearf It’s like he knew what I was going to do! Talk about keef ing you off balance!”
<
s
sea
c0r
k\
Off
Sa,
4u
S
cor
hie
Ho
Ste;
$0*
Perhaps some of these examples—and they are only ■ few from the many years—may serve to show the flip sid of Admiral Rickover. Some readers will contend that the! represent an apologist, a member of the team. So be i1 Over the past few months I have discussed the “hate” porf with a number of folks, a couple of former CNOs include^ None buys the hate rating. Some counter with “fear,” w there has been more than a measure of that. One retire commander, a former nuclear enlisted man who becarf1 an Atomic Energy Commission representative in a ship yard (and thus wrote the KOG weekly letters) strongly df nounced any feeling other than admiration. As he surf marized it, “Every time I wrote him a letter, I knew tN I’d get chewed out for something, but he was always rigW He was always out in front of the what the Army puts o'1 today—he made us ‘be the best you can be.’” Amen.
Vice Admiral Kaufman is a freelance photographer and writer living11 Maryland. He is coauthor of the book Sharks of Steel (Naval Instil'1'1 Press, 1993), and served in the Navy for 38 years, having command'1 three submarines and pioneered the Trident missile program.
Proceedings / January 19*1